


Freedom of Self

by Rin_Yukimura



Category: Japan - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Boys' Love, Gay, Insecurity, Japan, Japanese Culture, Kindness, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Romance, Trust, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15763626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rin_Yukimura/pseuds/Rin_Yukimura
Summary: Arata Wakahisa is a student and a part-time waiter in Tokyo. He is an introvert and a very reserved person.Daichi Matsushita works for a design company. His professional attitude contrasts with his warm smile.What hides deeper, beyond appearances? What happens when they bring out the other's true self?A story of love and trust.A story of changing oneself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set in modern-day Japan and will contain a variety of simple Japanese interjections, suffixes or terms. See end notes for explanations.

It was hot. As soon as Arata slid open the door leading to the narrow balcony of his one-bedroom apartment, a dry gust of wind hit his face. His dark silky locks swayed against the black rims of his glasses. The young man inhaled deeply, placing his hands on the rail. The heat radiating off the asphalt, several stories below, immediately reached him. He ignored the discomfort, having already grown accustomed to Tokyo's scorching summer nights.

His apartment was relatively small to begin with, so the simple pieces of furniture he had took up most of the space. There was a single bed with a nightstand, a kitchenette on the opposite wall, a large table in front of the window, where he always studied and ate, and two bookshelves squeezed together next to the table for quick access. He kept his clothes and laundry in a tall dresser placed in one of the corners and stored the pairs of shoes he didn't use in a plastic box next to the dresser.

Arata Wakahisa, a 20-year-old Biological Sciences major, had never thought that there would come a day when he would become dissatisfied with such a modest lifestyle. He had always been told that he was as plain as they came. Average-looking. Ordinary. Dull. Arata had never taken such words as insults.

Few were the things he showed any particular preference or desire for. His reactions had never been dramatic nor had he ever done anything adventurous or insensible. Indeed, Arata was what one would call common and predictable.

And yet, somehow, he now achingly felt like an essential part of him was waiting to be fulfilled. His lower part softly twitched in his underwear, straining painfully against the fabric, and he gritted his teeth as that sweet frustration threatened to overcome him.

 _The walls are too thin!_  he thought, squeezing his thighs together, only to cause more friction. He whimpered lowly and rubbed his face, trying to erase the sensation from his body.

Every other evening, he could clearly hear his next-door neighbor having sex and even though he had repeatedly tried to discipline his body, the lustful sounds coming from the other side of the wall always managed to arouse him in the most perverted of ways.

Arata was too shy to knock loudly on the wall separating their apartments in hopes that the energetic couple would tone it down. He could not mention his dilemma to his neighbor either, already blushing at the mortifying idea of explaining the problem. The young man had no other choice but to endure his current situation until he managed to muster up the courage and do something about the issue.

"Aaagh!...Nghh!"

Suddenly, a woman's cry of pleasure and some muffled groans reached his ears and Arata involuntarily blushed a darker shade of red, his lips squeezing together as if to mimic the tight sensation between his legs.

"Are they done now?" the young man muttered to himself, going back to his room, turning off the lights and collapsing onto the bed. The mattress sunk with his weight and the sheets felt stifling and hoarse against his skin.

He cringed with guilt as the tips of his fingers pushed at the elastic band of his shorts to take them off. Arata lifted his hips slightly, the fabric sliding along his smooth skin to rest at his ankles. His moistened erection was freed and he tentatively reached out to grip the base. A soft moan threatened to escape him, so Arata quickly brought the other hand to his mouth, covering it.

Gently, he started pressing against the shaft, massaging it in small, circular motions. When he reached the tip, which was slowly starting to leak a clear, slick liquid, the young man squeezed his eyes shut from the embarrassment he brought upon himself and smeared the precome all over his erection. After hesitating a little, Arata's breathing turned a bit more laborious as he started stroking his pale, hardened flesh.

A few minutes later, he felt a tight knot in his lower abdomen as the pressure in his testicles and perineum build up. His chest rose higher with every breath, as he got closer and closer to his release. Arata finally climaxed with a muffled whimper, clenching his muscles and pressing his thighs tightly together as he let his semen spurt into the palms of his hands.

 _What a pain..._ , the young man thought to himself after a moment of recovery and swung his legs to the edge of the bed, his wet underwear and his shorts piling pathetically around his ankles.

Most of the times, he did not look forward to pleasuring himself. However, when it came to situations like these, Arata had little choice but to alleviate what he usually referred to as a simple physiological reaction.

"Well, at least I let it out." Arata concluded aloud, inspecting the thick, white fluid on his fingers and noticing that his sperm had indeed become rather viscous.

He stepped out of his shorts and headed to the bathroom. Once his hands were washed, he left to search for a large towel in the dresser and returned to take a shower. The young man expertly set the water temperature to slightly warm and grabbed a new bar of soap before washing a day's worth of sweat off. Afterwards, he dressed comfortably, picked up the clothes left on the floor, neatly folded his shorts and washed his underwear by hand, hanging it out to dry on the balcony.

Arata quickly skimmed through his notes one more time, thoroughly prepared for the next day. He had Histology and Biochemistry on Mondays and he was eagerly anticipating the continuation of last week's lectures. The semester was ending soon, with only three weeks before the final exams were scheduled to start. As always, Arata had been studying steadily since the beginning of the semester and managed to cope with the stress. His friends had repeatedly expressed their jealousy of Arata's determination and patience, yet he had rarely shown any particular curiosity towards when or how much the others studied.

That is not to say that he was secluded from everyone else. Arata enjoyed talking with all kinds of people, but never about himself. He often found the littlest pleasures of his day in observing the behavior of others and analyzing what laid beneath the obvious.

Sighing, the young man poured himself half a glass of water, feeling dehydrated after his shower, and set his alarms at 7 and 7:05 AM respectively before plopping down on the bed, exhausted from the heat.

The thought of having to go to his part-time job at the family restaurant the next day miffed him. During the week, Arata always had the evening shifts, since he had lectures in the morning, but on Saturdays and Sundays his schedule was packed, split between working, studying and doing the chores that might had been put off.

The money Arata regularly received from both of his parents was not much and soon after moving to the capital, he found himself in need of a part-time job.

Alone in a new city, his only previous experience with tutoring younger children proved useless. Who would hire a stranger without a recommendation from a reliable source? The amount of money he could earn from tutoring would have been far from enough anyway, so that idea was immediately scrapped.

Arata had considered working in a bookshop or a small convenience store where he could study when there weren't many customers. Unfortunately, the only ones that were hiring were too far away from the university and his apartment. In the end, the young man had given up on the idea of a nice, quiet workplace and resigned himself to looking for any job opportunity that arose nearby.

Much to his disappointment, the only vacancies were at a local pharmacy and at a busy restaurant close to the university. Without a degree in pharmacy, Arata had grudgingly gone to the restaurant for an interview and, surprisingly, succeeded in getting the job. Apparently, a staff member had suddenly quit and they were in desperate need of a waiter.

The manager, Fujita-san, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, had given Arata a brief explanation of how things worked when she hired him. However, it still took a while for him to become accustomed to arranging tableware, taking orders and holding multiple plates and bowls at a time when serving food.

"Mou, Wakahisa-kun!" Fujita-san had exclaimed once, exasperated by his standoffish attitude. Indeed, Arata's aloof personality and his blank stares were often unnerving and made it seem like he couldn't be bothered with the service. The truth was that he simply found the act of pleasing loud and obnoxious customers a waste of energy.

Still, putting aside his terrible communication skills, the young man soon realized that the job he had landed by chance was unexpectedly advantageous. Besides the convenient location of the restaurant, his salary covered the needs of a college student and he also received free meals daily, courtesy of Fujita-san. She had noticed that what Arata lacked in customer service skills, he made up for in hard work. Without being asked, he helped with washing the dishes and taking out the trash and always came early on weekends to speed up the preparations for opening.

The young man suddenly snorted, recalling Fujita-san's brusque head tilts towards the kitchen, a signal that his meal was waiting for him. She was a peculiar woman, that Fujita-san, weird enough to hire someone as reserved and as gloomy as him to serve her customers.

Arata glanced at the clock on the nightstand and, taking off his glasses, he decided to have an early night. Before falling asleep, he went over his plans for the next day in his head and made a mental note to buy some fruit and also, one more white dress shirt for work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is set in modern-day Japan and will contain a variety of simple Japanese interjections, suffixes or terms. See end notes for explanations.

As soon as his alarm rang, Arata rolled over to shut it off and got out of bed. He put on his slippers and trudged to the kitchen, already hungry. He beat two eggs, fried them and heated some leftover rice from the day before.

When Arata moved to Tokyo, his cooking was awful to the point it made him reluctant to eat his own food. Soon enough, he started losing weight due to his poor diet, consisting mainly of convenience store bentos. However, after Fujita-san hired him and offered him nutritious meals daily, Arata regained some color in his cheeks.

Understanding that he couldn’t always rely on his thoughtful manager, the young man came to work even earlier than he was supposed to and spent time next to the chefs, in the hopes of picking out some basic recipes.

Slowly but surely, Arata became skilled enough to cook for himself on a daily basis, and, as a result, he gained confidence in his ability to live on his own, miles away from his parents.

As he sat down to eat, the young man checked the time, and began gulping down the tamagoyaki and the rice, rinsing his mouth with a cup of tea before getting dressed. He brushed his teeth and swiftly ran a comb through his bangs, rushing to grab his belongings and slip on his shoes. He locked the door and bolted to the elevator. If he was lucky, he could catch the earlier train and avoid the huge crowd.

Arata hopped in the elevator with two of his neighbors and, bidding them "good morning", he smoothed his T-shirt down and checked the time on his phone. He would have to hurry. As the doors of the elevator slowly opened, the young man scurried out of the building and started jogging towards the station, which was no farther than ten minutes from his place.

By the time he arrived on the platform, Arata had worked up a light sweat, but fortunately, he was just in time for the train. As he predicted, he found several empty seats and sat down with a huff of relief. Glad that he didn’t have to stand up, barely hanging on to a plastic strap while being sandwiched between people just as sweaty as him.

Arata was rather uptight about his personal space and had always been uncomfortable with skin ship. The young man’s evasive attitude when rejecting personal touch sometimes hurt his friends’ feelings, but he could not help it.

As the train cart gently tilted side to side, Arata covered his mouth and yawned. Avoiding the crowd cost Arata about a half an hour of sleep, but it was a necessary sacrifice, in his opinion. He looked out the window, rather tired of the same views he saw every day, and waited patiently for the train to reach his stop.

# # #

 

Content with the professors’ explanations and the amount of studying he had done in the library, Arata slipped his backpack on his shoulder and headed to the restaurant in a light jog. Fujita-san called him to see if he could come in earlier than usual, as the restaurant was quite crowded. After everything she had done for him, the last thing the young man wished to do was to let the manager down when she needed him.

As he approached the intersection where he was supposed to take a left turn, Arata weaved through the other people and looked down at his watch for a second to check the time. However, as he raised his head, he accidentally bumped into a man who unexpectedly came into view. The papers the stranger was flipping through crumpled slightly and Arata’s bag slipped off and hung on his forearm.

“Ah, I’m so sorry.” Arata exclaimed as he adjusted the strap back onto his shoulder.

“No, forgive me. I was distracted and got in your way.” the older man apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He stood a couple of inches taller than Arata, with a rather embarrassed smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry about your papers.” Arata insisted, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It’s no problem at all, they were of no use anyway.” the other man reassured him. He spoke in a very gentle manner, his voice pleasant and modulated. “Excuse me, but do you happen to know where _Kame Restaurant_ is?”

Arata was rather surprised. _Kame Restaurant_ was where he worked. Although it was on a side street, away from the hustle and bustle of the boulevard, it wasn’t hard to find. Yet this man seemed lost.

“Em, yes, I do.” the young man took a moment before replying. He imagined the stranger would want him to offer directions.

“Ah, I’m sorry to trouble you, but could you tell me the way?” the stranger inquired, a very hopeful look plastered on his face.

Arata internally sighed. He was in a hurry, yet he had to show this disoriented man the way to the restaurant. They were going the same way, he couldn’t very well take off before him. What if he proved to be customer and saw Arata waiting tables? It was bad manners.

“I am headed there as well.” he reluctantly said.

“Really?” the man beamed. “Then, I’ll join you if you don’t mind.”

 _I knew it,_ Arata thought, but he simply nodded and began walking at a swift pace.

“Thank you.” the stranger caught up. “I hope I am not bothering you too much. I have a terrible sense of direction and often end up getting lost.” he laughed, a bit embarrassed. His laugh was warm and the young man felt like his good will did not go unappreciated. He murmured that he was fine with it.

Under the shade, Arata could see the older man’s features a bit better. His coffee brown hair was short and groomed to give him a professional air. He wore a navy blue suit, matched with an ordinary white dress shirt and a grey tie with a rather peculiar pattern. The briefcase in his left hand was slim and despite its rather deteriorated state, it seemed refined, much like his shoes.

“My name is Matsushita Daichi.” he introduced himself, with a perfectly crafted business smile.

“I’m Wakahisa Arata.” the young man replied, bowing very slightly. He did not wish to seem impolite. Although it was a pain at times, Arata wanted to improve his social skills.

When they reached a smaller crossroad, the restaurant came into sight. However, Fujita-san had repeatedly asked the employees not to use the front entrance and enter through the back instead, as to maintain a more professional air.

“Matsushita-san, the restaurant is over there. Have a good day.” Arata indicated and turned around to go into a separate alley.

“Eh? Wakahisa-san, weren’t you coming as well?” Matsushita-san asked, visibly surprised.

“I am an employee. We don’t use the front entrance. Please go on in.” the young man briefly explained and disappeared into the alley.

Arata got changed into his uniform and went to see Fujita-san before starting work. However, he noticed that the door to her office was closed, meaning that she was busy, so he decided to attend to the customers. As the young man strode skillfully between the numerous tables, he raised his head in curiosity and glanced around him to see if he could spot Matsushita-san.

Arata was intrigued to observe that the older man was nowhere in sight. He wondered if he decided not to come in, after all. The restaurant was not shabby, but it was modest nevertheless. Matsushita-san looked like a regular salary-man, although he did seem to have an distinctly cultured air about him. Perhaps a family restaurant did not suit his tastes?

The young man shrugged his uneasiness off and, retrieving a pen and a note pad from his pocket, he focused on his work and began taking orders.

Some time afterwards, Arata had just placed several plates full of appetizing food down in front of the customers and was headed to the kitchen again, when Fujita-san came into view, accompanied by none other than Matsushita-san.

“Eh? Wakahisa-san?” the other man exclaimed. Arata wondered why this person, who was clearly older than him, insisted on taking courtesy almost to the extreme and using _san_.

“Do you know each other?” the manager inquired, visibly intrigued.

“I was rather disoriented, unfortunately, and Wakahisa-san showed me the way. Thank you.” Matsushita-san answered with a smile of gratitude, directed at Arata. He simply nodded politely, feeling quite stirred by the man’s beaming expression. It felt genuine and incredibly warm, as if it was seeping into Arata’s soul.

 _What a peculiar man..._ , he thought to himself, discreetly observing him. Everything about this man, from his posture and mannerisms to his appearance, exuded an aura of professionalism. However, much to Arata’s surprise, he did not act smug or overbearing.

“Wakahisa-kun, Matsushita-san works for _Ametsuchi Design_. They will be redecorating the restaurant.” Fujita-san explained and Arata understood that the door to her office had been closed because of their meeting.

“Nice to meet you again.” Arata bowed slightly and, raising his gaze, he was taken aback when he saw a greeting card pushed towards him. He was hesitant to take it, wondering why the man would bother being so attentive to a mere part-timer, but politely grasped the card with both hands and carefully placed it inside his chest pocket.

“Let’s get along from now on.” Matsushita-san replied. Arata then excused himself and got back to work. The restaurant was crowded and he couldn’t afford to slack off.

Later that day, the staff were busy closing the restaurant and cleaning up when Fujita-san pulled Arata aside and told him he could leave. He had come in earlier than the rest of the waiters in the afternoon shift and the manager reckoned he deserved to be let off this time.

Thanking her, the young man made a move to go to the changing room, but hesitated and decided to ask Fujita-san what was on his mind.

“Umm... Fujita-san, I didn’t know you wanted to renovate the restaurant.”

She raised her eyebrows for a second, then quickly concealed her surprise with a smile.

“I think everything needs a change now and then. Don’t you, Wakahisa-kun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'bentou' = boxed lunch  
> 'tamagoyaki' = rolled omelette  
> See previous chapters' end notes for more terms.


	3. Chapter 3

With the final exams approaching, Arata grew busier by the day. The young man knew that he eventually had to ask Fujita-san to temporarily reduce his workload while he immersed himself in studying.

Arata was quite likely the definition of a diligent student. However, he did not always have the time to thoroughly read and grasp the details of his lecture material during the semester. Split between work and the responsibilities that came along with living by oneself, the young man was also often asked by his professors to help with research and experiments.

Thanks to his reserved attitude and his dependability, he won their trust and favor and even published a couple of well-received scientific articles. The downside was that Arata was left with no free time.

With the semester coming to an end, his schedule became more and more hectic, with lectures cancelling and pre-examinations popping up instead. And so, the young man found himself forced one day to change his shift from the evening to the morning. Thankfully, he didn’t inconvenience Fujita-san too much, as they only had two reservations in the afternoon.

As Arata finished clearing the table of a woman who had stopped by to have breakfast, he heard the clear clink of the restaurant’s door opening. Looking up to welcome the new customer, he saw a familiar person come in.

“Matsushita-san! Good morning.” the young man called out to him before he could help it. As the other man recognized him, the same warm smile Arata knew appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Wakahisa-san.” he replied, taking a few steps towards him. “Do you work in the mornings as well?”

“Just today.” Arata responded. “If you are looking for Fujita-san, she is out at the moment.”

“Aah, yes, I came to consult with her about repainting the walls.” Matsushita-san confessed sheepishly.

“Please excuse us. She should be back shortly. If we are not keeping you, please take a seat.” Arata said, surprised by the politeness and hospitality of his own words. He could feel himself reddening slightly, embarrassed by the pompous way he expressed himself.

Matsushita-san accepted Arata’s invitation with a grin, sitting down and placing his briefcase on the ground.

“Please wait a moment.” the young man gave a shallow bow of the head and went to take the dirty plates he had been holding to the kitchen. He returned minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee and placed it in front of the other man. “It’s on the house.” he explained.

“Thank you.” Matsushita-san said, visibly surprised by Arata’s kind gesture. “If you are not too busy, would you mind keeping me company?”

Arata faltered for a moment, stunned by the older man’s words, before taking a seat across him.

“It’s fine, we don’t have many customers in the morning.” he replied. With only two people in the restaurant, it seemed almost empty.

The silent sound of cutlery hitting against the plates was drowned out by the faint music coming out of the speakers. Unlike the hustle and bustle and the continuous hum of the evening shift, the atmosphere in the restaurant in the morning was serene.

Arata was not sure where to look or what to say. Weirdly enough, he felt somehow intimidated by the other man and couldn’t think of any topic of conversation that could interest him. His friendliness was wasted on him, Arata believed.

“Have you been working here for long?” Matsushita-san inquired, taking a sip of coffee.

Lost in his own thoughts, the question took the young man by surprise and he fumbled to get himself together.

“Eh? Ah, um, almost a year. Fujita-san has taken good care of me.” he responded, daring to look up at the other man, whose gaze seemed inescapable. Matsushita-san’s eyes were set on him, full of curiosity and almost urging him to talk more about himself.

Although the young man had always been the type to shift the conversation away from himself, it seemed as if this time, words spilled out of his mouth without his control.

“The evening shifts are tiring sometimes, but I don’t want to quit. It’s also close to the university, so it’s convenient.” Arata continued, trying his best to follow up with something engaging.

The young man had no clue why he was fidgety in front of Matsushita-san, nor did he manage to pin-point the reason he felt the need to put so much effort into their conversation.

 _I really am a boring person_ , he thought, clenching his fists under the table in frustration. He felt beads of sweat forming on the palms of his hands.

“You’re studying at T University? That’s impressive.” Matsushita-san raised his eyebrows and shifted in his seat.

“I’m a second year in the Biological Sciences department. It has always been my dream to do research.” he elaborated with a quaver in his voice. “There aren’t many openings, but I’m doing my best.”

Arata didn’t know what to think anymore. He felt like a fool for running his mouth, while also being taken aback at the ease with which he opened up to the man sitting across from him. Looking down, he couldn’t help the blush that rose to his cheeks.

“You are an interesting person, Wakahisa-san.” Matsushita-san spoke with self-evident certainty. There was no hint of sarcasm or ridicule in his voice.

Arata felt something tighten painfully inside his chest at the older man’s words. As he raised his head and their gazes met, the sensation seemed to spread out of control, down to the tip of his toes, stirring his insides.

Nobody had told him that before. Not once. What Matsushita-san said felt like the biggest compliment he could ever receive.

“Aah, no...” he chuckled nervously, feeling his cheeks burning. “That’s not the case.”

“No, that’s what I believe.” the other man asserted. The look in his eyes made it clear that he was serious. “I enjoy listening to you.”

Arata thought he was about to melt in his seat. He gripped the sides of his chair, his knuckles turning white.

Before he could think up a way to respond, he caught sight of Fujita-san parking her car in front of the restaurant. Following the direction of his gaze, Matsushita-san turned his head towards the large glass door and saw the manager get out of the silver Toyota, carrying a heavy crate in her arms.

“Excuse me, I’ll go and help her.” the young man jumped out of his seat, relieved that he managed to avoid giving Matsushita-san a reply. Before the older man could offer a helping hand, Arata was already outside, picking up the crate and disappearing round the back.

# # #

 

Matsushita-san continued to come to the restaurant once every three or four days, each time with a different matter to discuss with the manager. Sometimes, he would forget a pen or a stack of paint samples and stopped by to pick them up the next day. He always bid hello to Arata with a goofy grin on his face and asked how he was.

In all honesty, Arata felt exhausted.

He had stopped working on weekends, but even so, time seemed too short. T University’s exams were tough and he couldn’t afford to take breaks. The young man hit the books whenever he could, reading at home and mentally reviewing the material on the train or at work, while cleaning tables.

The stress made Arata jumpy and irritable. He couldn’t stand the heat and his appetite fluctuated strangely. A day could pass without him feeling particularly hungry but there were also moments when he desperately craved sweets.

He stayed up late almost every night, until his eyes started closing on their own. The pants he often wore became rather loose and his face gained an unusual pallor. Controlling himself so as not to yawn in front of the customers was quite a challenge.

However, Arata always replied that he was doing well, the corners of his mouth involuntarily curling upwards. Whenever Matsushita-san stopped by, the young man’s mood improved dramatically and his motivation rocketed. It was odd how just this man’s presence alone was calming.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the exam session ended, Arata’s health had deteriorated to such an extent that he collapsed and needed to stay home, nurturing a high fever. Two days after the symptoms debuted, there seemed to be no change in the young man’s condition and on Sunday evening, he called Fujita-san to let her know he wouldn’t be able to come in to work.

Arata felt foolish. He had overworked himself and now endured the consequences. While the young man passed the finals with flying colors, his ambition had pushed him further than what his body could handle.

Although he had no choice but to stay in bed all day, Arata didn’t get to rest properly. Every muscle and inch of skin hurt to touch. At a temperature of 39°C, his pulse increased significantly in order for the blood to reach skin level faster and cool down. With it, the much-needed nutrients and leucocytes were delivered to help his body fight the fever. However, the young man’s heart ached slightly from the tremendous effort it made to beat faster.

Pestered by a throbbing headache, Arata felt horrible. His limbs weighted a ton and with so little strength left in his knees, he could barely get out of bed to grab himself a bite to eat. The few antipyretics he had bought days before were used up and his only comfort was a box of cooling pads.

All alone, the young man was getting rather anxious. He was in no state to take care of himself and wondered whether he should call home.

 _No, they’re busy. I doubt they’d come,_ he thought to himself, quickly discarding the idea. Ever since his parents had divorced four years before, Arata’s relationship with them had been ebbing away, the young man closing himself off, much like a hesitant, quivering snail retracting into its shell.

Still, the problem remained and his thoughts ran errant. What if his condition worsened? Would he need to call an ambulance?

 _No...,_ Arata tried to clear his mind and encourage himself. Surely, it wouldn’t come to that.

# # #

 

On Monday, Matsushita-san stopped by _Kame Restaurant_ once more. As he stepped inside, his eyes instinctively started searching for Arata. It became his habit to check up on the boy whenever he got the chance. Every time, he anticipated seeing him drop that utterly exhausted look on his face and welcome him with a little smile.

Much to his own surprise, Matsushita-san found himself following Arata’s every move, clinging on to every precious bit of personal information that managed to slip past his lips, no matter how insignificant.

However, this time around, Arata was nowhere to be seen in the restaurant. Rather disappointed, Matsushita-san decided to ask the manager after their meeting.

“Oh, he’s not well at all.” Fujita-san answered with a look of compassion in her eyes. “I wonder if I made him work too much.”

Seeing the man’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion, she couldn’t help but share her worries with him.

“Actually, Wakahisa-kun called me yesterday to ask for a few days off.” she continued. “He sounded absolutely terrible.”

Concern washed over Matsushita-san’s face. His eyes seemed to darken slightly as his lips parted. The man felt anguish claw at his heart as words got caught in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m quite worried because he lives alone but at the moment I don’t have the time to check how he is doing.” the woman elaborated apologetically, gesturing towards the tables packed with customers. “It’s hectic without him.”

The man faltered for a second, trying to gather his thoughts. He scrambled to lift the cuff of his sleeve and check the time. It was already a quarter past four. And he still needed to go back to the office and submit the report he had been working on. A sense of urgency stirred inside him and threatened to bubble out of his chest.

“Excuse me. Could I have his address?”

# # #

 

Arata lay on his back with a thermometer stuck in his armpit when his stomach growled. The young man didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew he had to eat. The beef curry lying in the fridge was still good, but too heavy to digest. The meat wasn’t tender enough for him to chew easily, either. So far, he had settled on sipping the miso soup he somehow managed to whip up the day he collapsed.

The young man heard the familiar beep of the device and noticed his hand trembling slightly as he reached to pull it out. 38.5°C. Somewhat better, but Arata couldn’t tell. What was more, he felt quite dizzy. As much as he tried to keep himself calm and lucid, he sensed his self control slipping and giving in to fear.

A loud knock startled him. He groaned, wondering if it was another door-to-door salesman. Convinced the person would go away, Arata rolled on his side and tried to rest some more. The knocking returned, more persistent than the first time.

“Wakahisa-san?” Matsushita-san’s voice filled his ears.

Arata sat up as if he had been burned and immediately regretted it, closing his eyes shut to stop the vertigo. His heart beat wildly as he struggled to process the information. The man rapped his knuckles against the door once more.

“Wakahisa-san! It’s Matsushita. Are you feeling alright?” the other man sounded obviously uneasy. Arata willed himself to respond but nothing came out. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his throat tight and painful. The young man grasped the blanket and uncovered himself, dragging his legs to rest at the edge of the bed.

He heard the squeak of the door handle being pressed multiple times to no avail, as the man tried to let himself in.

 _Damn it all, I locked the door,_ he thought, pushing himself to his feet with great effort, his knees shaking. A wave of nausea hit him. The young man felt like he was going to collapse any second. Panting, he clung to anything in his way to keep himself standing.

“Please answer! Are you okay?” Arata didn’t recognize this panic-stricken Matsushita-san. He would have felt touched by the other man’s concern over him if his mind functioned properly. He only knew he had to get to the door and unlock it.

When he saw Arata, color fled from Matsushita-san’s face and he stood rooted to the spot. The boy was leaning against the wall huffing and clearly out of it. Before he could say a word, Arata’s knees gave out. Gasping, Matsushita-san rushed through the door to catch him, the jacket on his forearm and his belongings dropping to the floor. Fortunately, he managed to grab the young man under the shoulders and hoist him up before he hurt himself.

“Can you stand?”

 _What a stupid question_ , Matsushita-san chided himself. He bent his knees and snaked a hand underneath Arata’s legs, lifting him.

“Forgive me, I must be heavy.” the young man mumbled, too exhausted to protest. His head dropped against Matsushita-san’s shoulder, a deep frown carved into his face. His cheeks were burning red from the fever and the effort and his chapped lips were scrunched up in anguish.

“Not at all.” the other man replied.

Arata felt unnaturally light in his arms, his face slightly drawn. Seeing him in such a sorry state, Matsushita-san’s mouth was pressed into a thin line and he clenched his hands tighter around the boy’s body. As he was set down on the bed, Arata’s stomach growled again. His cheeks flared up even more.

“I brought you some peaches.” the other man chuckled, the small smile on his face a bit forced, yet full of compassion. “Will you have some?”

“Thank you.” Arata nodded slowly, resting his upper half against the wall. Matsushita-san went back in the entryway, shutting the door and taking his shoes off. He set his belongings on a chair and took his tie off.

Rolling his sleeves up, the older man retrieved a ripe peach from the bag and washed it. Matsushita-san rummaged through Arata’s kitchen, found a plate and a knife and quickly cut the fruit in quarters. He grabbed a tissue from the roll on the countertop and set the plate down on Arata’s lap.

The young man let out a murmur of appreciation and picked up a luscious slice between his fingertips. Bringing it to his mouth, he caught a whiff of its aroma and took a bite. A few drops of juice spilled over Arata’s hand and dribbled down his chin. It was sweet and succulent, the refreshing coolness of the nectar moistening the young man’s lips and tongue. He hadn’t savored a piece of fruit like this in forever. The delicious taste filled his heart with indescribable warmth and a knot formed in his throat.

Without paying it too much thought, Matsushita-san reached out and used the tissue in his hand to wipe the juice off Arata’s chin.

The young man was mortified. Avoiding the man’s gaze, he hung his head down in shame, bangs covering his flushed skin. He bit down on his lower lip, his eyebrows knitted together in distress. He had showed Matsushita-san such an unseemly side of him and troubled the man so much. Arata felt pathetic. He didn’t deserve this sort of kindness after all.

Along with an array of conflicting emotions, the fever was taking a toll on his mind as well. Overwhelmed, Arata’s vision blurred as tears prickled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miso = Japanese seasoning produced by fermenting soybeans with salt and sometimes rice, barley, seaweed


	5. Chapter 5

Arata’s face contorted in misery and he buried his head in his hands as a small whimper left him. Everything ached.

He couldn’t think anymore. Whether it was the fever that had been weakening him for the last few days, the relief that filled his heart when he saw Matsushita-san or the embarrassment of troubling the man so much, Arata found it impossible to pin-point why he was struck with the urge to cry. The stress the young man had accumulated in the past weeks came pouring out in this meltdown.

He ground his teeth, the muscles of his jaw flexing visibly under his skin.

"I’m sorry." he choked out as another sob racked through him. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me today."

Arata shook his head as if to show he couldn’t believe himself for crying in front of the other man. As he tried to gulp down the wringing knot in his throat, he felt his chin clenching upwards as his mouth distorted into a quivering line. The young man was sure his eyes were bloodshot and his skin blotchy. How pitiful was it? He didn’t have the courage to look Matsushita-san in the eye.

"Forgive me." Arata sniffed, his voice cracking. As he wiped his eyes, two large hands fell on his shoulders, pressing gently. Without giving him the chance to protest, Matsushita-san pulled Arata to him, the boy’s forehead resting against his chest.

"It’s fine. Cry if it makes you feel better." the older man emphasized with a soft pat on the back.

"I’m sorry." the young man apologized profusely once more, humiliated. "I’m so sorry to trouble you."

"Don’t mind me." Matsushita-san tightened his arms around him. As Arata’s head pressed harder against the man’s body, his skin rubbed against the smooth fabric of his shirt. A faint smell of cologne and sweat wafted from the base of the other man’s neck and Arata’s heart constricted slowly and painfully. Heat radiated through the young man where Matsushita-san touched him. It felt good.

Giving in, he let the tears he had been struggling to hold back slide down his cheeks.

# # #

 

After Arata calmed down, Matsushita-san lied him down on the bed and he prepared the porridge. Placing the ingredients in the rice cooker, the man set the timer and put on his shoes to go buy some more medicine.

"I’ll be right back, Wakahisa-san." he called out from the door way. For a second, Arata was tempted to throw a sarcastic reply at him or make a self-deprecating joke to ease the tension and embarrassment he felt.

"Okay." the young man replied meekly. He still thought that being overly familiar with Matsushita-san was inappropriate, yet he wished that the man would stop addressing him so politely.

Arata heard the door close and heaved a big sigh.

"What the hell..." the young man muttered to himself. His head ached and the fever seemed to have flared-up again, but his mind felt clearer after crying.

Arata scoffed. He couldn’t remember the last time he sobbed in front of someone. It still felt unreal. The young man’s friends would have never believed he was capable of displaying such emotion. Imagining Mayama’s shocked expression or Hayashida’s trademark cackle, the corners of Arata’s mouth curled upwards.

Unlike him, his friends had no filter. Mayama was in the same department as him and had introduced his girlfriend Abe, a law student, to their group, while Hayashida studied engineering and stubbornly refused to admit that his Osaka dialect warded off every girl he tried to approach.

Perhaps a bit jealous of Arata’s self control, Hayashida often tried to prank or startle him, in hopes of hearing the young man’s Akita dialect surfacing. After moving to Tokyo, Arata had made consistent efforts to discard the few peculiar phrases he had grown up using and, unfortunately for his friend, rarely did he let his mouth slip.

The young man’s eyes suddenly fell on the three remaining peach wedges on the plate beside him. Munching on them, his thoughts drifted off to Matsushita-san and wondered what expression the man wore while holding him.

Arata clenched his eyes shut, sighing again. Overcoming the embarrassment of being babied by a work acquaintance was not an easy task.

Slowly, a hesitant smile appeared on the young man’s lips. Matsushita-san felt so warm. Even though he was burning up with a fever, the other man’s body still had this indescribable warmth that soothed Arata. It felt nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so good, basking in the affection shown by somebody else.

The young man wished he could experience it again. The warmth, the kindness, the tenderness of the moment... everything. He wanted to live it again and again. He wanted to see Matsushita-san again.

 _Am I delusional or what?,_ the young man admonished himself.

Swallowing his saliva, Arata noticed that the sweet taste of the peach was still on his tongue and, once more, the image of the older man popped into his head. His heart ached. It felt like he missed him already.

 _It’s just the fever..._ Arata concluded, though rather unconvinced, as he rubbed his face in hopes of dispelling such ideas from his mind. All he could think about was Matsushita-san’s gentle smile... the way his eyes crinkled when he wore that sheepish expression on his face... his modulated voice.

Arata blinked rapidly, tearing up a bit, despite the smile on his lips. Weirdly enough, the young man sensed a peculiar feeling of happiness bursting out of his chest. He wanted Matsushita-san to come back quickly.

# # #

 

Lost in thought, the sound of footsteps outside caught Arata’s attention. He sat up. The front door creaked and the young man could hear the rustling of plastic bags before Matsushita-san stepped into the living room, panting slightly. When his eyes fell on Arata, as if relieved, the man broke into a silly grin.

"I haven’t been gone that long, have I?" he huffed, checking his watch.

"No." the young man responded, smiling back. He realized that Matsushita-san had been worried about leaving him alone so he hurried back.

Something swelled with joy inside Arata.

After the loud beeping of the rice cooker signaled that the meal was done, Matsushita-san was quick to rinse and chop some green onion and parsley that he had just bought. The man placed them on top of a bowl of his so-called "upgraded rice porridge" that also contained bell peppers, carrot and peas and stuck a spoon inside it before bringing it to Arata on a cutting board.

"I hope it’s to your liking." he murmured, setting the board on the young man’s thighs and crouching down next the bed. "It’s hot, so please be careful."

The steam hit Arata’s face and his expression softened even further.

"It looks delicious. Thank you so much." he replied, grabbing the handle of the spoon between his fingers.

Matsushita-san’s stare, betraying his impatience and curiosity, slightly unnerved the young man but he was too famished to pay it much mind. When the soft rice and vegetables hit his tongue, Arata let out a long hum of appreciation.

"It’s great!" he confessed enthusiastically. Thanks to the vegetables, the dish not only had a plus of nutrition, but a savory taste as well, although it still wasn’t too heavy on the stomach.

"I’m glad you like it." the other man let out a breath of relief. "It’s a lighter version of fried rice. We eat it in my family when we’re sick."

As he mixed the parsley into the porridge, Arata couldn’t help but wonder what Matsushita-san’s family was like. Did he have any siblings? He could easily imagine the man playing the role of a big brother. What about his parents?

 _They must be very good people,_ he thought to himself, scooping up another spoonful as Matsushita-san watched him intently, still hunching next to the bed. The young man would have liked to ask the questions that kept crystallizing in his head, but all of a sudden, he became very self-aware and the words just wouldn’t form in his throat.

"It’s not as plain as basic okayu." he ended up uttering, smiling wryly. "Thank you. I’m sorry to trouble you so much."

 _Just let me disappear_ , Arata prayed. Usually aloof and perfectly composed, he often experienced a bizarre, nerve-wracking pressure to only show the man his best sides.

"Please hurry and finish all of it, Wakahisa-san. You have not been eating properly and lost too much weight too quickly." Matsushita-san reprimanded him, a genuine frown carved into his forehead.

"Eh?! Ah, well..." the young man mumbled evasively and resumed eating in order to avoid looking him in the eye. He couldn’t deny those accusations.                                                                                      

"Please take better care of yourself." the man continued pleadingly, remembering in frustration how skinny the boy felt in his arms. Matsushita-san’s heart had sunk inside him when he saw Arata in the doorframe, eyes glazed over, clinging desperately onto the wall and gasping for breath. He didn’t want to think what would have happened to the boy if nobody came.

"Don’t make me worry any more than this, Wakahisa-san."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okayu = plain rice porridge


	6. Chapter 6

Arata gulped the remaining food in his mouth and gawked at Matsushita-san, who was staring back at him, his walnut brown eyes boring into his, scorching his cheeks while taking him in.

The young man didn’t dare believe his ears. Did it mean he occupied even the smallest space at the back of the older man’s head? His heart thumped in his chest and Arata couldn’t believe how delighted he was from such a small thing. Though Matsushita-san’s tone was stern and admonishing, he felt spoiled by the attention he was getting.

“Sorry.” the young man reflexively responded, unused to having someone fretting over his well-being. As a child, whenever Arata had caught a cold or stumbled and fell, his parents had nursed him back to health rather impassively, dismissing his pain as superficial and commanding him not to cry. Little and craving their time and attention, Arata had been all the more disappointed when his mother and father, busy with work, brushed off his attempts of showing affection.

“Apologise to your own body for not taking care of yourself.” Matsushita-san reprimanded him further, getting up. “Why didn’t you call anyone to help you? Fujita-san told me you could barely speak when you phoned her yesterday.” the man spoke harshly and seemed to want to lecture Arata even more.

“Yes, you’re right.” Arata concluded apologetically, his expression grim with self-disappointment as he continued eating the porridge, his hunger surfacing above everything else.

The older man’s expression gradually softened as he observed Arata’s cheeks bulging with the food he had prepared. He sensed the weight in the pit of his stomach disappear and the tension in his shoulders ebb away at the sight. He sighed in relief. The boy would get better soon.

Setting the medication and the water on the nightstand, Matsushita-san rummaged through the pockets of his jacket, which had been messily thrown on the chair in front of the desk. After a few moments, he tsked, letting the suit fall back where he had left it.

“Where is it? Did I leave it at the office?” he mumbled, patting himself down, a slight frown of confusion appearing between his eyebrows.

Arata chewed content, his stomach appeased, as he gazed at the other man, who stood tall in the middle of his small apartment, looking so out of place.

The boy’s eyes fell languidly to Matsushita-san’s arm, resting on the back of the chair, halfway uncovered by his rolled up sleeve. Struck by a bizarre curiosity, Arata observed the traces of muscle and his gaze inched upwards, towards the curve of Matsushita-san’s shoulder. His form, lean yet virile, was tinged a rusty shade of orange from the weak rays of the setting sun, casting shadows on his profile and reflecting as amber sparks in each strand of hair, once neatly arranged for work yet now falling messily into the man’s eyes.

Did he always look like this? Was he like this at work? This... alluring?

Matsushita-san turned slightly, his other hand grasping the scruff of his neck in hopes of remembering where he had misplaced his business cards, and Arata found himself staring involuntarily at the man’s broad back, his ribcage expanding with every breath, taut underneath his shirt. The shirt he had cried on. The shirt he had rested his cheek against. The thin fabric that had separated Arata’s skin from his skin. The...

Matsushita-san abruptly moved.

He grasped a pack of post-it notes and a pencil he had found lying on the desk and began scribbling, the sound on the lead gliding effortlessly on paper filling the room as Arata subconsciously held his breath.

 _Why was I ogling at him like a woman?,_ Arata questioned himself, frowning. _Geez, I’m still staring. Stop it!_

The man had been so thoughtful and had gone out of his way to help him yet he had been eyeing him up so perversely. How detestable. Arata grimaced in guilt. He felt dirty, always dirty, despising himself and loathing the way he behaved around Matsushita-san, almost lecherous, inadvertently bringing to surface the sides of himself he wanted to hide the most.

“Wakahisa-san.” the older man called out his name, breaking him out from his thoughts. “I’m leaving my personal phone number here, so please call if you feel sick or need any sort of help.” he instructed, lifting his gaze to meet Arata’s. The young man opened his mouth in protest, his eyes smoldering with remorse behind his glasses, yet Matsushita-san didn’t let him utter a word.

“ _Please tell me_ if you’re unwell, don’t try to endure it on your own.” he emphasized and set the pencil down. Arata didn’t seem convinced that it was okay for him to accept such goodness and generosity from the man but nodded reluctantly.

“Matsushita-san... I, uh...” the young man stammered, flustered. “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me. Please let me repay you. Thank you so much. And thank you for the food.” he concluded with a deep bow, the dish empty in his lap.

For a moment, the other man didn’t say anything and Arata kept his head down, his breath caught in his throat.

“No need to lower your head, Wakahisa-san. But you’re welcome.” he finally chuckled and the young man complied, looking up to see Matsushita-san beaming childishly at him. With a grin on his lips, he grasped the empty bowl from Arata’s lap and went to wash it.

“I know how it’s like to live by yourself. It can get pretty lonely when you come home and there’s no one waiting for you.” the man confessed, facing away from Arata as he turned on the water in the sink.

“I’m the oldest of four siblings so there was always someone home when I arrived. Even when I moved out, I didn’t stop saying _‘I’m home’_ once I entered the door, but it gets a little lonely when it’s so quiet.” he admitted, glancing at Arata over his shoulder with an embarrassed smile. “I try to visit or call whenever I find the time.”

The young man couldn’t help but notice how different their relationship with their respective families was. As the only child of two career-driven parents, Arata was used to being alone ever since he was little, even more so after they had divorced. He couldn’t fathom what it would have been like to be born in such a big, tightly knit family, yet he seemed to soak up Matsushita-san’s words, excited to know more about the man.

“Matsushita-san, you’re from Tokyo?” Arata mustered up the courage to ask.

“Yes, my family lives in Edogawa. Well, I was born in Saitama but we moved after my sister was born, so I was around... 5 years old at the time.” the man replied, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “What about you, Wakahisa-san?”

 _What about me?,_ Arata paused. How did the conversation turn to him all of a sudden?

“You’re not from Tokyo, right?” Matsushita-san elaborated, rather unsure noticing the young man’s confused expression.

“Ah, yes. Um, I mean no! I’m from Akita.” he replied clumsily, averting his gaze as he gulped down the medication left for him on the nightstand.

“I thought so.” the older man smiled triumphantly. “Ah, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I noticed by your accent.”

“Eh?” Arata’s eyes snapped back up to his visitor in disbelief. “I have an accent?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Matsushita-san stood in front of him with the same old sheepish smile on his face.

“Not at all...” the young man mumbled, baffled. He had practiced his Tokyo dialect almost religiously ever since he had entered university and although Hayashida’s jealousy was rather aggravating at times, he prided himself with his self control. Even the professors he had been assisting with miscellaneous tasks had expressed their surprise at finding out that Arata was not a true-born Tokyoite. So how could the man have picked up on the subtleties of his words that even he hadn’t noticed?

“Our company has clients not just from Tokyo, but from other prefectures as well. Well, mainly from the Kanto region but we’ve had a few from Tohoku and Chubu too. We mainly communicate with such clients by phone or email and over time I started recognizing many speech patterns and tics.” Matsushita-san explained, smirking and leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “Wakahisa-san, usually when you speak, you restrain the way you express yourself. Your words are calculated and every sentence sounds polished to perfection. But when you’re tired or surprised or... on the spot so to say, your tongue sometimes slips slightly.”

“I, uh... I had no idea.” Arata stared wide-eyed at the other man, not comprehending how he could have caught such an inconspicuous quirk, before breaking out of his daze and clearing his throat.

“I apologize. I was not aware of ―” he stopped abruptly and pressed his lips into a tight, embarrassed smile, as he realized he was doing exactly what Matsushita-san had just described. The older man broke out into boisterous laugh, deepening the blush rising to Arata’s cheeks.

“You were right, Matsushita-san.” he conceded, chuckling quietly at the ironic situation.

“I have an odd habit of observing people’s mannerisms and peculiarities. I wouldn’t have been able to distinguish it otherwise.” the other man admitted rather awkwardly and before Arata had time to dwell on his words, Matsushita-san instructed him to lie down and get some rest as the pill worked its magic.

**Author's Note:**

> '-san' = suffix associated with the name of a person older than the speaker or in higher rank than them, also used for strangers and other people you are not close to
> 
> '-kun' = suffix often used for males younger or in lower rank than the speaker, also used with friends or colleagues as it is less formal than '-san'
> 
> 'Mou!' = interjection to show disbelief, lack of patience, irritation etc.


End file.
